


thoughtless affection.

by Prettything_uglylie



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Polly Gray, Bisexual Disaster Tommy Shelby, Canon Universe, Courtship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gift Exchange, Gift Giving, Good Boyfriend Alfie Solomons, Grief/Mourning, Light Grief, M/M, Mentioned Grace Burgess/Tommy Shelby, Sad Tommy Shelby, Supportive Shelbys, at least not much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettything_uglylie/pseuds/Prettything_uglylie
Summary: When he receives the blade, he has little idea what to make of it.- Tommy and Alfie enter a courtship without fully talking about it.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 10
Kudos: 136





	thoughtless affection.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so second take on a fanfic for this fandom! I hope you like it!

**to court.**

_/kôrt/_

verb.

be involved with romantically, typically with the intention of marrying. 

* * *

When he receives the blade, he has little idea what to make of it. 

At first, Tommy Shelby considers it a threat. 

It is a beautiful little knife, something just as crafted for the sake of cutting bread as it could be for taking out an eye and Tommy strokes it between his hands for a bit - it weighs heavily between the shoulders, especially the blunt end of the blade and he likes it. The blade becomes something he realizes fits in the slot of his fabric in between his boot and his trousers, capable of slipping in easily but makes him walk slightly heavily on one side though it wears away when Tommy carries it around for a full week. 

He doesn’t need to ask who sent it but John murmurs something about Alfie Solomons being a _right talkative prick_ when he catches him weighing the blade in his hand. Polly smiles over the brink of her mug and it resides somewhere deep in Tommy’s stomach as not right, she seems to disagree but he doesn’t ask. 

He doesn’t ask even when Alfie is standing in front of him. 

Alfie, surprisingly, does not mention it even in his spiels of conversation that does not see any mercy enough to stop. 

* * *

He sends back chocolates after getting the blade. After all, he had simply been about his town and had stopped by, only to be caught in the memory of just how good the chocolates from that particular shop were all throughout his life. 

Tommy’s teeth have sunk into one of them before his brain conjures the image of Alfie’s plump lips wrapped around the delight as he bites it and then chews and says something outrageous and accurate and that sparks a fire throughout all of Tommy’s nerves like the thrill overtaking him when he had heard Alfie cuss out, _fucking biblical, mate._

He tries not to overthink it, even as he sends it, even as he repackages it because the shopowner - an elderly woman named _Kassopeia_ , wrapped in a friendly smile and an edge not even slightly dulled by time - had smiled and wrapped it for a _darling_ _of_ _his_ that would presumably be female. 

The heart-shaped box could not be miscommunicated as anything other than a gift for a sweetheart. He rewraps it, even though he knows it could fit their _situation._

Tommy is so used to being two steps ahead of the game that thoughtless affection feels nice and like the only break he’s had in a very long time. 

* * *

It isn’t thoughtless affection, he realizes more than a little frightened after the second gift. 

The second gift is a bottle of whiskey delivered not by John or mail but on his office’s desk when he enters the space, rubbing his temples and loosening his clothes out instead of taking the tempting opportunity to yell at Arthur for blowing one of the connections that they had. 

He savors the silence of the office like one would whiskey on the tongue but seeing it is bizarre, like the apparitions of the dreams in opium-induced states but this one is more welcome than any Jap will be for him for his lifetime. 

Tommy doesn’t need to read the note to know who it’s from but he savors the messy scrawl of _assumed you would need this - A. S._ The writing is slopped and disjointed but as though written quickly rather than written by someone with lesser intelligence than he knows Alfie has. 

Alfie is brilliant just like him, that’s what makes the game so fun. 

He drops the vest of his suit onto the back of his chair with a sigh and tosses his hat onto the desk where it clicks with a gentle jingle of metal before he takes a careful swig from the bottle and lets out a contented sigh as the generous and smooth burn pours through his throat, landing in the pit of his stomach as a warmth uncommon to him. 

Only sitting does he realize that one of his documents has the corner torn off, matching well enough to Alfie’s note and Tommy snorts at the subtle disrespect before murmuring to himself, disbelieving, “Asshole.” 

It takes until his third or fourth swig that he realizes it isn’t thoughtless affection. 

* * *

He thinks it over for a full three months, the longest time between their gifts or interactions but the idea of the gift in mind seems entirely too intimate and it makes him scrap his fingers nervously along the stitch of his cap. It is bizarre for him to have such an obvious anxious tick, something Polly notices immediately and one night, when sleep cannot find him, he finds himself standing in front of their faucet, holding an empty glass where water once was. 

“Tom,” she murmurs, which makes him startle - an emotion barely noticed as he strains to control himself at least physically - and her smile victoriously at him for a moment before she starts, “Come sit.” 

She’s sitting at the dark oak wood of their dinner table, one hand clasping the red roses and white background that aligns her favorite teacup - he’s surprised he didn’t hear the whistle of the pot just as much as he is surprised that she is awake - and the other splayed across the knife Alfie had given him as a gift. 

He wonders how she got it for a moment but she is just as much gangster as the rest of them so the wondering disappears quickly.

He sits and watches with careful eyes as she balances the knife on one hand, similar to his own actions in a way that he finds his lips perking into a smile for with little reason. She watches the blade and sips her tea patiently, he wonders if it’s earl grey or whatever else perks her tastebuds, before she starts, “It’s a nice gift.” 

It is, but it makes his body flush red-hot with an unbelievable bout of guilt with little reason - he feels guilty not for getting the present but like he is guilty of being seen this easily, the connection between the two of them feeling too obvious. 

He nods, humming thoughtfully before he glances to her cup, “Earl Grey?” 

Aunt Pol shakes her head twice before solidifying, “Green tea, a bit of honey - This is a _gift_ , Thomas.” 

“It is.” He agrees tersely, weight heavy in his stomach and voice threatening to close in on itself. He feels nervous in a way he never does, Tommy Shelby prides himself of being two steps ahead of the game in many cases but all he is here is reliant on Polly’s mercy. 

It doesn't scare him as much as it should. 

She nods. They both seem to know the weight of what this means and it settles in the air around them before she encourages, “Take a sip, Tom.” 

He does - it tastes good, leaves him warm in the pit of the stomach and his gaze is grateful on Polly, even as she smiles too pitifully at him. 

Her acceptance is loud in the silent room but he is grateful for it in whatever form it comes. 

* * *

The next morning, he sends one of the oldest blades unstitched from his cap that has his name carved into it, to Alfie. 

On a piece of ripped parchment, he writes, lettering loopy and neater than Alfie’s own note, _Aunt Pol and I agreed this would be of interest to you. - Tommy Shelby._

* * *

The next gift is not for him. 

Ada has the package ripped open hastily, chewing gently on the bread as she moans gratefully at the airy and fluffy taste and he asks her, entering their home, “Ah, you brought bread?” 

His younger sister’s face reads of confusion before she asks, dubious in her confusion, “No? It’s your gift.” 

“And yet your hands are all over it.” He deadpans without really minding her eating it before he looks over at the note, scrawled into the packaging bag of the bread. 

_Well, in that case, for the wonderful Aunt Pol. - A. S._

_ps. i’m fond of the way you write your whole name._ is the note and a flush suddenly overtakes his cheekbones, something Ada must notice immediately, her laughter pitching through his ears as welcome jingle despite his own embarrassment at the prospective of her understanding how it means so much to him. 

He snatches the rest of it from her greedy digits with the resolve to give the rest to Aunt Pol later despite his baby sister’s protest, “Hey! That’s really good!” 

As he takes the steps towards his office, her cadence slips through the room and she asks, “Hey, Tom?” 

He turns slightly, glancing at her over his shoulder to let her know that he’s listening before she continues, ever the spoiled younger sister with her having him wrapped around her finger and her using it as a puppeteer move, but smile full of something a little too kind and supportive, “Can you ask your boyfriend to make _me_ bread?” 

* * *

He isn't sure how the details fall into his lap, honestly.

Somewhere between an old friend of Arthur’s and a copper, the news of Ollie’s arrest breaks to him and him alone rather than headlines or courts. The arrest is a muddled situation, half alleging a drunken brawl well the other applies to something in relation to his vehicle - Tommy knows what it is even without the muddled arrest. It’s a hit against Alfie and his whole company, one that immediately puts Tommy on the defense but he’s surprised that it isn’t for the sake of himself or his own gang. 

No, he finds himself worried for Alfie in a way that is too distracting in particular, unhelpful to their cause but it blossoms still. 

He pulls strings and Ollie is out by morning, sent back to Alfie with careful precision and despite not saying anything, despite being a mysterious shadow on this one, Alfie must know it was him, and the message, he knows, comes across to Alfie just as well as he could say, _Your men are my men._

* * *

He marries Grace - he marries Grace and though he should, he feels no regret for it. Grace is full of light and kindness with soft strength that makes him feel dizzy and strange ideas of amusement. 

He marries Grace and has no regrets. 

Until she’s bleeding in his arms and like love and blood pouring from her cracked open body, he’s dripping in regret. 

* * *

It is six months after her death when he finally gets another letter from Alfie. 

The gift isn’t a gift this time, it’s just a razor with his name carved into the side that looks brand new and a note that starts, _May we try this again?_

Tommy hates that his heart thinks they never stopped. After all, it was never thoughtless affection. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this! Kudos and comments are VERY appreciated!!


End file.
